Not The Real Shepard
by cooroo
Summary: Curly Shepard thinks about his dreams and realises that he'll never be Tim. But maybe, just maybe, he'll be something better. But is it really worth dreaming when you're a greaser? Written for the December WSOTT Rumble.


**Disclaimer: I don't own The Outsiders and I am making no profit from this.**

**Warning: A few swearwords in here. Nothing too bad, though. **

"I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah, see you, Curtis." I turn away from Ponyboy and start walking away, shrugging my shoulders to get my jacket to fit better. Now where to? Home isn't an option; it never really is. I only go there when I need to, mostly when I need cash from Ma because I don't feel like jumping somebody for it. Not that she really has money most of the time either.

I could head to the Nightly Double or The Dingo, get into a good fight and pick up some broads. Some of the boys might be there, too. I could catch up on what's going on. Maybe a Soc'll be around and we could give him a good jumping.

I sigh, wondering why I'm trying to convince myself that I want to go somewhere full of people. Well, I do want to go, but I'm tryin' to kid myself that it won't be too busy, tryin' to kid myself into thinking that I won't see anybody there who knows my brother.

Yeah, that's gonna happen. Who doesn't know Tim Shepard, right? Then again, who doesn't know the Shepards, period? We're a pretty famous family, I think. Tim is... well, he's Tim Shepard – what more do you need to know? And Angela's been popular pretty much all her life. Maybe 'cause of the way she's always mouthing off to teachers, or because she's pretty and all the girls hanging around her want to be her.

Aw, whatever. Who am I kidding? Tim and I hate it, but we both know a lot of Angel's popularity is there because she's such a flirt. Or a slut, depending on how you look at it. Tim's changes his opinion daily.

And me? Well... being Tim's Shepard's kid brother is a claim to fame in itself, right? All the members of the gang know exactly who I am. People on the street recognise me. All because of who my brother is.

I soon get to The Dingo and let myself be swallowed by the noise and action. It's a good place to forget, The Dingo.

"Hey, Curly!"

At least, until this happens.

I turn. "What's goin' on, Jim?"

He grins easily at me, like he always does. "Just wanted to say hi. I'm here with some of the boys."

I nod. "Sounds tuff." Jim ain't part of the gang or anything, but he's a cool guy. We skip school together pretty often, but apart from that we don't hang out all that much. He has his friends, I have the gang.

He turns to glance over his shoulder as somebody yells his name. "I'd better get back to 'em."

"Ok. See ya 'round."

"Yeah. See you, Shepard." He turns and walks away.

I do, too, but I only take about two steps before some jerk yells, "C'mon, Jimmy! Curly's just Curly; the real Shepard is Tim."

I whirl around, stride back to the guy, and do what any self-respecting Shepard would do – punch the asshole as hard as I can.

The look of surprise on his face is great, but I don't get to look at it for very long because he instantly punches me in the gut.

A couple of minutes later, I'm stalking away from the drive-in, fists still clenches. I've knocked him out, but I could still beat that guy some more. "Curly's just Curly..." Asshole. He deserved everything he got. He should've gotten more.

Figuring I'm far away enough from the noise and crowds, I sink down, leaning against a tree and fumbling for a smoke. I'm so mad that my hands are shaking and it takes me three tries to light it. Who did that guy think he was, anyway? What does he know about me? Nothin', that's what. Tim might be the leader of the gang, but I'm a Shepard through 'n through. Even Tim admits it. He did a few weeks ago when I had gotten into a fight at Buck's and busted a couple of my ribs. When I got home, Tim had yelled that patching me up was getting expensive before telling me, kind of proudly, that I sure was a Shepard. Then he had told me to get the hell out of his sight.

I take a long drag, then exhale, trying to stop shaking. It's not just from anger, either. It's a chilly night. But freezing's better than listening to the yelling that I know will be going on at home. It'll either be between Tim and Angela, or Angela and Ma, or Ma and her latest man. I don't remember his name. Why would I bother? He's gonna be replaced within a week.

I huddle deeper into my jacket, tryin' to stay warm, my legs stretched out in front of me. I might be warmer if they were pulled to my chest, but what kind of hood sits like that? Not Curly Shepard, that's for sure.

_Goddamn it, who was he to say I wasn't a Shepard?_ He wasn't even a member of the damn gang! He wasn't anybody.

So why's it bugging me so much?

Because he was right.

Sure, I am a Shepard, no doubt about it, but I'm not _the _Shepard, the real one.

I never have been.

I lean my head back, eyes closed, and inhale from my cigarette like it's my only lifeline. The I rip it out of my mouth, throw it to the ground, and crush it with my shoe. I shouldn't even be smoking right now. When I lit a weed the other day, someone commented on me being a 'mini Tim'.

I guess I can't be mad about that. I started smoking to be like Tim in the first place. He started when he was twelve, and I took it up less than a year later, just because he was lighting up every hour.

But that's how it's always been, right? Me doin' what Tim was. He started smoking, I started smoking. He got a girlfriend, I stared flirting. He became leader of a gang. I wanted to lead a gang.

I didn't get the last one. Obviously. Who'd listen to Tim Shepard's kid brother, anyhow? I guess it's the one way that I'm unlike Tim.

Goddamn it!

What the hell is wrong with me? Why am I suddenly feeling so crappy about this? I manage to ignore it most days, but today ... I suddenly can't think of anything else. It hasn't left my mind all day. But it wasn't getting to me this badly. That only happened when the jerk at The Dingo opened his big mouth. "Not the real Shepard..." It's so bloody true. I never have been and I never will be. I'll never be anything more than Shepard's kid brother, a mini Tim.

I shiver again. It's getting even colder out here. I pull my knees to my chest and, figuring I might as well screw looking like a tough hood, rest my forehead on my knees. It's doesn't matter anyway. Nobody ever comes around here. I inhale cold hair and laugh bitterly. How pathetic. And to think it's all because of my big brother.

And even weirder though is knowing that a couple of years ago I would've given anything to be known as a mini Tim. He was the greatest thing in the world back then.

He kinda still is, actually. I wouldn't ever admit it to no one, but Tim's still the guy I look up to. I still want to be him. But ... well, that ain't possible so I want to be the furthest thing from him. I don't want to be second best anymore. I want ...

I slam my fist onto the floor. It's concrete and it makes my hand hurt like hell. Good. I'm hoping it'll distract me because, damn it, I don't want to think about this. I _can_'t think about this. I've known ever since I was a kid that it ain't no use dreaming, not when you're a greaser. Socs, they can do anything. They just have to put some cash down and their dream comes true. When you're a greaser, it's impossible. Greasers are greasers – there's no changing that.

But that's not the point! I don't mind being a greaser at all. Well, apart from the cash and dreams thing. But who wants to be a stinkin' Soc, anyhow? Not me. Being a lousy hood works just fine for me. But being Tim Shepard's brother? Not so much.

I'm just sick of it. I'm sick of going through each and every day knowing that I'm never gonna be anything other that what I was yesterday – Tim Shepard's kid brother. I'm not ever going to be anything more. Not a gang leader. Not a feared rumbler.

Not Tim Shepard.

Doesn't make very much sense, does it? Yeah, my thoughts never do. I can't stand being told I'm like Tim and yet I want to be him. I guess I just don't want to be Curly Shepard. Not in a million years. I want to be ...

What do I want to be? Tim, but ... Glory, is my entire life based around my broher? I guess it kind of is. And I'm sick of it. I'm just so bloody sick of it!

I suddenly feel my eyes burning and I press my hands hard against them. Greasers don't cry. Tim doesn't cry.

Damn it!

I pull my hands away and rest my forehead on my knees, letting the tears come. And the moment they do, they turn into gut-wrenching sobs. When was the last time I let myself do this? I don't even remember.

Actually, that's a lie. I do remember. It was a little more than a month again. And two weeks before that I had cried, too.

It's pathetic, isn't it? But, glory, I needed it. And I need it now, too, I need it so much ... and I don't give a damn. I can't do this anymore, I just can't. I'm through with it. _I'm done._

I really mean it. This is it. I'm done being plain old Curly Shepard. I'm done being part of the Shepard gang. I'm done following my brother in everything he does. I'm going to...

Well, I don't know what I'm going to do exactly. But I know what I'm going to be. I'm going to be something more. More than a greaser. More than Curly. More than even Tim. I don't know how, but I'm gonna do it. I _have _to do it.

I'm gonna show them all.

I press my lips together and make sure my eyes are dry before I stand up and start walking away. It's starting now. I'm going to be different from now on. It's going to start with me no longer wanting to be Tim. It's going to end with me being so much more than him. He's going to want to be me.

About five minutes of confident striding and dreaming, I slow down. Why the hell am I doing this to myself/. Why do I _always _do this to myself? _This is why I don't cry_. It makes me all hopeful and makes me forget that I'm a greaser and my dreams don't come true. It's the same thing every time I cry. It starts the same way, with anger, and the middle's full of hope, and it ends with disappointed. Every time.

It's time I remember who I am, _what _I am. My dreams don't come true. I'm never going to be more than Tim. Hell, I'll never be more than a greaser/ If I was a Soc, things'd be different.

But I'm not. I'm just Curly Shepard, a dumb hood. That's all. All I have is dreams that won't come true.

But, when I cry, I can dream that they will.

**I'd love to know what you thought.**


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